Persephone Alcmedi 00 - Wicked Circle

this at all. It is not right.”
    The Excelsior played his trump. “Father.”
    The word was a stake in Mero’s heart, pinning him to the chair. The man he had fathered was asking something of him. It did not happen often, but when it did, Mero could not help seeing Deric as the sad boy who’d lost his mother when he was nine, and as the boy who would be a king in dangerous times. Some things never change. “If they read me, they will know of Giovanni’s suggested course of action. Worse, they will see the absence of your disagreement with his sordid idea. I would not wish myself into such a predicament, but even more, I would not wish you into it. Konstance is unaware of these things, and it makes her the best choice.”
    The Excelsior kneeled before his advisor’s chair. His hand rested on Meroveus’s knee. “I trust you will not let those unfortunate things happen.”
    Mero’s son had kept from him the intelligence concerning the Lustrata, and now he was willing to risk the existence they both clung to in order to gain intelligence about Menessos. “Menessos Made me because I asked him to. When you made your request, he did not refuse you either. Do you hate him now?”
    “No,” the Excelsior replied. “But there are things he did not tell me, things he did not tell you. For that, I question whether or not I trust him.” The Excelsior resumed his spot before the fire. “After this, I will know if I can, or if I can’t. Because of her ties to him, if she truly is the Lustrata, I need to know more than ever if he is worthy of my trust.”
    What the Excelsior wanted from him was not unlike many instances that had occurred when Deric had yet lived and reigned as a mortal king. Mero had not refused him. Though he understood what the Supreme Vampire longed to know, he also understood that Giovanni had expertly planted that seed of doubt about Menessos and his intentions.
    Mero could not refuse Deric now, either.
    Mustering his resolve, Mero stood. He gripped Deric’s shoulder. When next he spoke, it was not to the Excelsior; it was to his son. “As always, I will do as you wish.”
    A grateful smile rounded the Excelsior’s lips just slightly. “The plane leaves at eleven thirty tonight. Your arrival will coincide with the setting sun in Athens.”
    Mero was at the door when his son added, “I will have the official order drawn up for Menessos. It will be delivered to you when the plane arrives in Dulles for refueling.”
    “What of the woman? What if she is the Lustrata?”
    “If she is, she must be subdued and brought here.”
    “And if she is not?”
    The Excelsior hesitated. “Eliminate her.”
    Meroveus emerged from the limousine and crossed the tarmac. His dark curls were unbound, and the wind tossed them into his face as he scrutinized the jet. It was the big one, the Gulfstream V-SP. It seemed ostentatious to transport a single traveler on a plane that could comfortably seat fifteen. Athens, however, was a twelve-hour flight. Of VEIN’s fleet, only this larger jet had the fuel capacity to make the trip.
    Halfway to the aircraft, he paused and dug a small cellular phone from his pocket. This was not his usual phone. For emergencies, he always carried a prepaid disposable—one not traceable by VEIN. The display gleamed brightly when he opened the phone to dial. He punched numbers from memory.
    On the third ring, he heard Goliath Kline say, “Talk to me.”
    “Heldridge Ellington gained audience with the Excelsior. In a little more than twenty-four hours, I will bring the shabbubitum to serve their libations to your master.” Mero then shut the device, squeezing it until the pieces popped and cracked, crushed in his palm. He reduced the phone to dust, letting it sift to the ground.
    Let us see how you respond, Menessos. It will tell me much.

CHAPTER EIGHT

    A s Eris drove away, I jogged behind, heading for the fountain where our ritual supplies rested. The taillights weren’t out of view when my satellite phone rang from my back pocket. I jerked it free and a name flashed on the little screen to identify the caller.
    Menessos.
    Mr. Manipulator himself. Do you know what I did already? I swallowed my anger and answered sweetly. “Hello?”
    “Persephone,” Menessos said. “Are you well?” Something about his voice was different.
    “Absolutely.” I arranged the glass hurricane globes into the cardboard box I’d placed beside the fountain. “And yourself?”
    “I am